


The Long Slow Goodbye

by Aedemiel



Series: The Fog at the Edge of the World [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Depression, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22153597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aedemiel/pseuds/Aedemiel
Summary: “He’s not like you,” Anathema explained. “Don’t you see? You’re already Fallen.”"He thinks he's Falling?" Crowley gaped."Yes. He's not but I rather think he believes he is. Or has."Crowley pulled off his shades in astonishment, yellow eyes fixed on Anathema. “Fuck.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Fog at the Edge of the World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636216
Comments: 21
Kudos: 85





	The Long Slow Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Discussions of mental health issues including depression and suicidal ideation. If you need help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Call 1-800-273-8255 They're available all day, every day. Reach out. You're worth it.

**Thursday**

C: Dinner tonight? 

A: I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ve had a huge delivery of inventory that all needs catalogued.

**Friday**

C: Got a 1995 Louis Roederer, u will love. Will B @ shop @ 8.

A: I’m not at home.

C: Where R U then? 

  
  


**Saturday**

C: Aziraphale, where are you? Shop is closed, empty.

* * *

By Sunday, it was clear Aziraphale was not going to answer Crowley’s texts. He’d tried visiting the shop but Aziraphale had undone his waiver and he couldn't get in. He’d tried sensing the angel’s presence but got nothing. Frustrated, he tried all their usual spots, even the bandstand although he’d sworn never to return. 

He wasn’t naturally a worrier. Aziraphale and he had spent whole centuries without seeing each other. But this was different. Ever since the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, the angel had gradually withdrawn, deflecting invitations to lunch, dinner even just a drink with claims of being busy or no reason at all. And now he seemed to have vanished entirely.

Once, Crowley would have just given up. If Aziraphale didn’t want to see him or talk to him, so what? But that was before. Crowley couldn’t explain why but Aziraphale’s behavior seemed off. He had no idea what to do. 

**Wednesday**

C: Don’t care if U think I’m a dick. Call me. Text me. Something. Please.

Out of options, he called Anathema Device.

“Hey, Crowley,” she said affectionately when she answered the phone.

Surprised at the warmth of her greeting, he stammered, “Need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” The witch’s voice sharpened, Crowley could hear her psychic senses prickling even down the phone line.

“Aziraphale’s missing.”

He heard her intake of breath. “Do you think something’s happened to him?”

“I dunno,” Crowley huffed in irritation. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be calling you.” It occurred to him that pissing off Anathema was probably not a good idea.

She took it in stride. “Come here and explain everything. I’ll put the kettle on.”

* * *

Aziraphale stared with unseeing eyes at the ducks, who had given up on him once he’d run out of bread. His phone buzzed but he ignored it. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? He regretted the day Crowley had finally badgered into getting the device. How could a person have a moment to themselves when they’re connected to the world 24/7? He was OK, he just needed to think.

Ripples fanned out across the pond. _Creation is like that,_ he thought. _Anything that happens spreads ripples. Small ones, big ones and sometimes something so huge it’s a tidal wave._ The smooth surface of Aziraphale’s life had been disrupted from time to time by demons, usually Crowley but Aziraphale wasn’t sure he counted since he often enjoyed their interactions. _Not always,_ he thought mournfully, the memory of his rejection of Crowley’s offer for them to go off together and let the world be destroyed. Nevertheless, the still, deep waters of Aziraphale’s cozy corner of the world had been washed away in a tsunami of horror.

The edges of his vision seemed fuzzy, gray. He was aware of people passing by, but the bubble of security he’d enveloped around himself kept everyone away. It had even worked on Crowley, to his surprise, both at the bookstore and here in the park. He’d watched furtively from the window as Crowley hammered on the door, yelled up at the windows and generally made as much noise as possible. And when he’d come looking for the angel near the duck pond, he’d walked right past the bench as though it didn’t exist.

This was what Aziraphale wanted, of course. So why was he unhappy that it had worked? He shook his head to clear it of thoughts of the demon. He wasn’t here to think about Crowley. In fact, it would probably be better if he never thought about him again. He’d deleted the demon’s contact information from his phone only to discover that this did not stop Crowley’s messages and calls coming through. He was considering whether to ditch the phone altogether. He only had a few people in his address book anyway and his angelic memory perfectly preserved those numbers anyway. 

Angelic memory. _Am I still an angel? What is an angel who’s been cut off from Heaven?_ He knew the answer but he didn’t much care for it. _Fallen._

* * *

Ensconced in Anathema’s cosy front room with a cup of tea he didn’t want and a curious Newt sent out on an invented errand, the witch took Crowley’s hand. He’d tried to pull away, not being much for human contact but she’d gripped on tightly.

“Tell me everything,” she demanded.

“I don’t _know_ everything,” Crowley retorted. “All I know is Aziraphale has been cutting me off. He stopped coming out to dinner, won’t respond to my texts or answer my calls. Bookshop’s all locked up, no sense of him. I went everywhere we usually go. Everywhere. He’s vanished.”

“Could he have gone to stay with a friend? Gone on holiday?” Anathema pressed, her eyes dark.

“No,” Crowley said firmly. “He doesn’t have friends and he doesn’t go on holidays.”

“He has you,” Anathema pointed out. “You’re his friend.”  
  


“Well, he’s not with me, is he?” Crowley snapped. He turned his head away from the witch’s penetrating gaze. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his sunglasses did not block her from reading his eyes.

“Let’s do a simple scrying,” Anathema suggested. “We can rule out the mundane causes of his disappearance first.”

Crowley nodded his agreement. He’d already tried this with his own demonic powers but maybe witchcraft would work differently. Knowing how this worked, he handed over a neckerchief from his pocket. Anathema quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It’s Aziraphale’s,” he explained. “He left it my car one time and I uh...never gave it back.”

Giving him a searching look, she accepted the finely made silk and rubbed it between her fingers, reaching her senses out to feel traces of the angel left behind on the cloth. She concentrated, muttering the incantation under her breath. She used no candle or ingredients, a sign of her considerable power. Crowley was impressed.

Her face was serene, her eyes closed but the lids flickering. “I have him,” she breathed. “He’s in Lond-- _Shit!_ Ow!”

“What happened?” Crowley demanded.

“He blocked me,” Anathema exclaimed, her face outraged. “Crowley, something’s terribly wrong.”

“What is it?” Crowley ground out.

“I’m not sure, he was somewhere outdoors. There were trees, people, water. I got the sense of… he feels adrift, untethered. He’s no longer tied to Heaven.”

“Damn right,” Crowley said. “We’re free from Heaven and Hell and good riddance.”

“You don’t understand,” Anathema said, her face grave. “He’s hurting. Think about it. Heaven rejected him in as thoroughly a way as possible; they sentenced him to death, to utter destruction. He evaded it just as you did, but the very fact that they wanted to get rid of him so completely has left a wound.”

“Well, you got one thing right,” Crowley grunted. “I _don’t_ understand. Why wouldn’t he want to be free of those fuckers?”

Anathema was silent for a moment as she grasped Crowley’s hand again. This time her face was not serene, it was pained.

“Do you remember your Fall?” she asked softly.

Crowley jumped away from her as though he’d been electrocuted. “What the fuck has that got to do with anything?”

“Do you _remember_?” Anathema insisted.

“Yes,” he snarled. “I hadn’t realized I was Falling until the end. Bollocks to it. Heaven was bullshit. Hell ain’t a picnic either but at least we all know we’re total bastards.”

“Aziraphale has had to put up with some bullshit from Heaven, but for six thousand years he’s felt like he was on the side of light, of goodness.” Anathema was somber. “The near miss with Armaggeddon, most importantly with his own side’s complicity has destroyed his entire world, even if the actual world survived.”

Crowley was silent. He lounged back against the fireplace, the intended effect of insouciance not really working out for him. Thinking about this stuff was hurting his brain.

“You’re saying he’s having an… existential crisis?” he hazarded.

“Yes, I would imagine so,” Anathema told him.

“I’m alright. Wha’ss the dif’rence?”

“He’s not like you,” Anathema explained. “Don’t you see? You’re already Fallen.”

"He thinks he's Falling?" Crowley gaped.

"Yes. He's not but I rather think he believes he is. Or has."

Crowley pulled off his shades in astonishment, yellow eyes fixed on Anathema. “Fuck.”

* * *

Crowley was back. Aziraphale had felt him as soon as he’d entered the park. He had no intention of making himself known to the demon. He’d surmised that Crowley had asked Anathema to scry for him and he was sorry to hurt her when he slammed that door shut, but he couldn’t cope with the feelings of other people.

He watched as Crowley paced back and forth, fighting with the illusion Aziraphale had wrought. Anathema had managed to get enough information to give the demon at least a hint of where he was. He doubted Crowley would be able to breach the spell.

Looking down, he realized his clothes were damp. He wondered vaguely why that was. He didn’t remember it raining. It didn’t matter. 

_Crowley’s your friend,_ he thought to himself. _Why are you shutting him out?_ He wished fervently that his brain would fuck off. Crowley was standing in front of the bench although he clearly still couldn’t see it. 

_I’m invisible. Not just because of the illusion. I’ve always been invisible. Down here, trying to do Heaven’s good works and they didn’t care. I filed my reports and no doubt they would have noticed if I hadn’t. But Crowley was right, they didn’t read them._

“Dammit, Aziraphale,” Crowley said in frustration. “Where the fuck are you? I know you’re here somewhere.”

_Why is Crowley even here? What difference does it make to him where I am?_

The demon inhaled deeply. “Please Aziraphale. You’re frightening me.”

That seemed like a curious thing to say, but Aziraphale was not that interested. _Go away. Just go away. You don’t have to pretend that I matter anymore. Armageddon’s been averted. We don’t need the Arrangement anymore. You don’t need me anymore._

“I will stay here until you show yourself.”

 _He wouldn’t. He’d get bored sooner or later._ Aziraphale wondered if it might be time to go somewhere else for a while. There was only one place to go.

* * *

Crowley wanted to kick something. He could feel just a sliver of Aziraphale’s angelic principle but not enough to get hold of. He yelled, he demanded, he threatened and finally, he begged. But there was nothing. 

He blinked, something had changed. There was a bench… Had that been there before? He couldn’t remember and the more he thought about it, the more a migraine pulsed behind his eyes. _Demon’s don’t get migraines,_ he thought unsteadily. 

It took a few more minutes to figure out what he was missing. The illusion was gone and that meant Aziraphale had left. How long had he been here? Lacking any other leads, Crowley inspected the newly visible park bench. It was wet, it had rained hard the last few nights, except for a patch about the size of a person sitting down. _He just sat here and let it rain on him? How long had he been here?_

Crowley knew he needed to find the angel and fast. _Where would he go? He wants to be alone…_

And then he knew where to find him.

* * *

The bandstand was quiet, as usual at this time of day. The sun was setting, which Aziraphale might have found rather pretty if he had cared to look. Instead he was running a hand over the paintwork. 

_I thought it would hurt more, coming back here. But I don’t feel anything. It’s just a place._

He didn’t bother to leave. There was nowhere else to go. If he went back to the bookshop, he’d have to face up to what he had lost. Freedom, no matter what Crowley said, was not the same as happiness. Sometimes it was its own cage. Maybe it would have been better if Adam had not restored the burned building. It might have been cathartic to pick amongst the charred ruins. Or maybe symbolic.

_You don’t have to stay like this. There is an end to suffering if you’re brave enough to see it through._

That thought should have been more startling than it was. Instead, it had a peculiar seductive quality. He was an irrelevance now, an anachronism. _Crowley might argue I’ve always been an anachronism_ , he thought with a ghost of a smile. 

A melody danced through his head, a soft heartfelt and mournful piece that seemed to match his mood. _Schubert,_ he thought. _A personal soundtrack as he bowed out?_ _Humans have options,_ he mused. _There are so many ways they can escape their own personal Hell. It’s supposed to be a sin but so is eating shellfish. I don’t know if She really cares either way._

He considered what would happen if he were discorporated. Heaven certainly wasn’t giving him another body but they weren’t going to want him around either. _They could have another go at burning you in Hellfire._ Or maybe he wouldn’t go anywhere. Untethered as he was, maybe he’d just drift away on the wind.

It started raining again, drumming on the roof of the bandstand. Aziraphale sank down and watched it fall.

* * *

Soaking wet and eyes wide with terror, Crowley stumbled into the bandstand, chest heaving from running so hard. He couldn’t see Aziraphale but something told him the angel was here. 

“Aziraphale?” he called out. “M’here. Talk to me.”

Aziraphale had no intention of doing so. _Why are you following me around, Crowley?_ He studied the demon as he stood in the center of the structure, hands thrust into his hair, sunglasses strangely missing. 

“Please, angel.” 

Aziraphale realized that not only was Crowley wet from the rain, but he was _crying._ He’d had no idea demons could cry. It didn’t matter. Crowley would be fine without him here. 

“Y’r not alone,” Crowley continued. “Y’ve got friends. People who love you.”

“Who?” Aziraphale’s voice said flatly, appearing at last.

“Anathema, Newt, Adam,” Crowley said.

“Acquaintances,” Aziraphale dismissed.

“Me.”

Aziraphale looked at him with tired, dull eyes. “You don’t need me anymore. The end of the world is no longer nigh and the Arrangement is unnecessary. It’s OK, I don’t mind. We were useful to each other and that’s fine. No need to keep up the pretense of liking each other now.”

“You _do_ like me,” Crowley declared, aware of the echo from the last time they were here. “You love me.”

Aziraphale gave him a watery smile. “Yes.”

“And…” Crowley swallowed hard past a lump in his throat. “I love you.”

Aziraphale’s face, already pale, drained of all color. He stepped backward, out of the bandstand and into the rain. 

“No,” he said, barely audible above the sound of the downpour. “You don’t.” 

And with that, he seemed to melt away with the rain. Crowley stared in horror at the place the angel had stood. The sense of Aziraphale’s presence had vanished and the demon was alone.


End file.
